


Somnus

by Pyrrhula



Category: The Thing (1982)
Genre: Reader-Insert, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:13:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27784285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyrrhula/pseuds/Pyrrhula
Summary: Harassing Fuchs during the middle of the night, hell yeah.
Relationships: Fuchs (The Thing)/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Somnus

Alone you stood in one of the few dimly lit hallways of US Outpost 31, goosebumps tickling the back of your neck, as you stared down the door to Fuchs’ sleeping cubicle. Rather, his room, but you’d heard Garry drone on enough times about proper terminology that even in such a sad predicament as this, you couldn’t bear to call it anything else. Beside that there was something so intimate about standing outside of a bedroom. You shrugged the thought away as you leaned towards the door.

  
Hoping Fuchs was a light sleeper, you knocked gently. No answer.

  
You tried again, a little harder, with your ears pricked for any noise. A quiet snore reached your ears and you felt antsy guilt well up in your cold toes.

  
“Fuchs?” You whispered, daring to knock again. The snoring hitched. But then started again. 

  
You sighed, hard. Kind of hoping it wouldn’t come to this, you placed your hand on the doorknob. No kidding about the lightbulbs, the hallway lights barely covered a few centimetres on the only bed in the compactly-built room.

  
A distinctly shameful feeling swallowed you. Hard not to feel creepy when you’re practically waltzing into a sleeping man’s room, even if it is in Antarctica.

  
You just couldn’t sleep, though, and sure maybe you could bother someone else but you rather wouldn’t. Men got pissy when they were cold and tired.

  
“Fuchs…?” You crept forwards, obstructing the light.

  
He mumbled something incoherent in his sleep. Whether he was waking up you weren’t sure. Taking a quick glance of what little you could see; the sleeping cubicle was rather tidy, papers in sorting baskets and equipment far away from the perilous edge of the small desk wedged into the corner. You smiled. If only a little.

  
You cleared your throat.

  
His eyes cracked open, and stayed about as open as the width of a needle eye. Oh right, you thought, glasses. But before you could say anything, he spoke.

  
“What… who is it? Blair?” He sat up immediately, frantically reaching for his glasses and nearly jabbing himself in his eye trying to shove them on.

  
“Sorry Fuchs,” you mumbled, repressing a yawn, “I’m really sorry, it’s just me…”

  
“Oh,” He seemed embarrassed, pushing his glasses higher even though they were already practically kissing his eyeballs, “…are you okay?”

  
You folded your arms to trap your hands in heat, your feet danced anxiously. A moment passed as Fuchs looked at you and you looked at the wall.

  
“If I’m honest, no I’m not,” you shook your head.

  
“Can’t sleep?” He smiled, like an aged statue in some forgotten museum.

  
You couldn’t help but smile back. His friendliness was incredibly infectious. Nodding, you leaned against the door frame. You rubbed your cold feet together. It was warmer in the sleeping cubicle but you didn’t dare take advantage of that without permission.

  
“Come in, it’s alright,” said Fuchs, as if he could read minds. Quite possibly, he just had eyes to see with.

  
“You can talk to me.” His voice hushed, almost conspiratorially.

  
You tiptoed slowly into the room, feeling the temperature rise. Fuchs had folded his hands away too, his eyes bleary and glasses a little smudged. Your heart thumped a little louder.

  
“There…there isn’t much to say,” you stammered, fiddling with a loose thread from your shirt, “just can’t sleep.”

  
Despite the sleep in the corners of his eyes, Fuchs didn’t blink. In any other case, with any other person in this freezing building at the bottom of the world, he would’ve given into that brief flash of irritation that sudden awakening prompted. He was a sensitive man, but even more sensitive when it came to you.

  
Fearing his throat too thick to speak, he patted the bed and shuffled backwards till his back thumped against the headboard. Watching as you sat next to him, curling your legs up beneath you. His insides felt like the whirring whine of an industrial blender. He could be professional, of course, out of all of the men he should be able to be professional. Especially since you considered him most approachable.

  
“Here,” he mumbled, dragging his blankets up over you but barely grazing you through it, getting off of the bed briefly to close the door.

  
“Aren’t you gonna be a little cold?” You asked. 

  
“Yes,” Fuchs responded matter-of-factly. He sat back down, pausing to fix his glasses, before giving you what you could tell was a timid smile. It was cute.

  
“Besides,” he continued pragmatically, “not enough blanket to go around. I'll make do. Wouldn't be the first time.”

"What happened the last time?"

"I may-" Fuchs rolled his shoulders and looked away "have done the laundry wrong."

You followed his turning expectantly, but gave up, as whatever he'd say couldn't be as funny as an educated man destroying his bedding. "I see. No spares?"

"No good ones." As expected. Sensitive in a lot of ways, Fuchs was. A thought had occurred to you however.

“If we can both fit on the bed and the blanket is the right size for the bed, then you should also be able to fit under that, right?” You frowned. Shuffling down until you were in the appropriate sleeping position.

  
“I… I suppose…” He ran his hand through his hair. His ears were red hot. His stomach felt like PVA glue.

  
“You can if you want to. It’s your bed after all,” you said, his shyness a radiator even in the dark. "Hell, you can kick me out if you want."

"I told you, it's alright..." His voice barely a noise, before it dissolved into the clunking of the generator below.

Moments passed in that darkness. You closed your eyes, no longer thinking of the things that had kept you up, instead focusing on Fuchs’ presence next to you. Confidence wasn't his strong suit but you hoped he'd reach out anyways. It could be painfully embarrassing, you knew.

  
After all, hands hadn't become a second language between you out of ease; it came with a lot of embarrassing missteps. An attempt to place a hand on your shoulder, became an almost broken nose when too much weight dragged him down. Grabbing his elbow in a fit of laughter had sent you stumbling forward right into Mac, your aim not quite correct and your balance not right at all. Maybe you were tipsy too but that wasn't important.

  
The mattress moaned suddenly as Fuchs’ weight suddenly shifted. You kept your thumping heart locked in its chest. He leant over. The sound of glasses clattering on the nightstand. Then a deep sigh, and the slow, methodical, drag of the blanket’s edge until it covered the both of you.

  
You knew better than to even slip in a little tease. Mostly because you were tired, but also because like most of the base you knew when flustering Fuchs was detrimental. And right now, he had his arms held tight against his chest and his legs locked like land that didn’t reach sea. 

  
“Fuchs?”

  
Seconds passed before he responded, “Mm?”

  
“Are you cold?”

  
“Why are you asking?” He mumbled back, relaxing a bit.

  
“Oh, no reason,” you turned on your side to face him. If you squinted you could just see the gleam of his eyes. Wide, open and inquisitive eyes. Hook, line and sinker.

  
“Well, being in Antarctica I don’t exactly think there’s no reason,” he said, his tone playful and borderline snippy, “you wouldn’t just bring it up for laughs, especially at this hour.”

  
His huffy sigh blew across your face. Scrunching your nose, you shuffled a little closer. Softly, like a lone hair tickling the back of your neck, he made a noise. Like the ka-chunk of the radiators, but organic. Then reached over, bumbling until the two of you were awkwardly slabbed together. Your head tilted at a weird angle, the positioning of your sleepwear rubbing an itch in your side. Like a pair of awfully friendly tuna fish.

  
“Is this okay?” He mumbled.

  
You lifted your body to reposition your clothes, then put your head back down. Fuchs’ face was brazenly close now, your eyes level with his. Certainly, you could feel his exhales, and certain he could feel yours.

  
“Yeah, it’s okay,” you slinked your arms around his neck, slow, to gauge his comfort, “is this?”

  
“Yes.” He sighed, again, pressing his face deep into the fabric of your shoulders. Nose pressed cozy against your clavicle. Eyebrow tickling the side of your neck.

  
You couldn’t help it, a drowsy laugh slipped out. And in the end Fuchs couldn’t help but giggle along with you. Muffled laughing, till you were too tired to laugh, and then too tired to stay awake. With a light heart, you listened to his breathing and then, you were gone.

**Author's Note:**

> I deleted the final version out of nerves, so there is a few differences as this is my second to last draft. I still kinda don't like it, but I know I'll get better at this and there's no shame in sucking at something! Nearly done with something else too. Thank you to the person who asked about this.


End file.
